Soaring over the dense treeline of Laeto, Story's wings caught the rays of the afternoon sun. Their rich inner tapestries of color sent curious prisms to and fro along the canopy. If one looked up at the source of the borealic spectacle, the great dark dragon had a sort of inherent….wrongness to him, being eyed in the daylight. The clash was stark - as though a piece of the night itself had escaped into the day, too anxious to await its own arrival.

The dragon was content now in that the sound of his wings sweeping air through the trees was the only noise he could detect. For many hours, the pattering of horses riding below furiously after him was unnerving. The hunters that had learned of his existence were truly relentless.

Story circled about until he found a clearing to land without crushing too much of the vegetation beneath him. He coiled about himself uncomfortably, adjusting to the closely-grouped trees, and narrowly avoiding getting his stag-like horns snagged on a branch. When he could concentrate, a dark light enveloped his scaled body, and morphed and shrunk in size, In seconds, there was not a massive dragon upon the forest floor, but a dark, well-dressed man. His indigo eyes swept about his surroundings. Predictably, the entirety of the forest in every direction was eerily calm. The wildlife had either moved away or fell into a rapt silence at the sight of the unnatural reptile.

It was not a perfect stillness, however.

Attuned to other senses as he was, Story could discern the difference between an animal's gaze upon him, and the eyes of something more sentient. The latter being unmistakable in this moment, he carefully paced among the trees, looking all about him. He cursed himself audibly when he turned, nearly running into the head of a spear. Just as his hand went to reach under his long coat, several more crudely-fashioned pikes were trained on him. The bare, well-muscled torsos of Laeto natives surrounded him, and they chattered among themselves, grass shirts shuffling through the bushes as they nervously kept their weapons pointed at him.

The possibility of changing back had crossed Story's mind, but he thought better of it. His scaled hide was tough, but not invulnerable. Plus, these people might not do him any harm if he cooperated. If they bound him and left him alone, that would be the perfect moment to change and escape…

Her existence in the tribe was much more mystically than most shamans. Her longevity was part of the reason why she was hailed as a near immortal. She brought prosperity to this tribe like her father before her. Compared to the last shaman though she was exotic. Her long wild red curls were decorated with phoenix feathers and gold beads. She wore a crafted black half top that pressed her bust closer to her chest. The skirt was fine purple silk but it was fastened around her wide hips with a well crafted gold belt. Many shaman tools hung off of it. Corydalis was dark skinned with elvish like ears like most of the Rosenite race.

Beautiful gems hung from her neck, ears, and arms. Tribal paint was over her face and down her body as it glowed from the magic in her blood. It was a vibrant glowing blue. A golden pipe with a tiny skull at the end where the smoke came from was in her lips. She was puffing on it as a cloud of magic left her lips. The shaman was in front of her hut as she sat around the fire. Her coral colored eyes were in a trance as she watched the flames that turned from a vivid blue to a sickly green. Something was coming.

Meanwhile, the tribe leads Story into the deep darkness of the Laeto jungle before tying his wrists behind his back. They nudged him around and once they got to the hut they shoved him hard so he went onto his knees in front of Corydalis. The fire shot up in a gigantic dragon head towards Story changing vibrant colors until it settled on the same color as his form. Finally, Corydalis stopped puffing and got up. She waved her hand at the tribespeople before uttering a few foreign words. The pikemen left them and she took a big inhale of the pipe before blowing the magic smoke into his face. “Welcome strange dragon man. The spirits have foretold your coming to this village. For what purpose I do not know but you are here.”

The flames behind them went bright green and shot up in the form of a flying dragon before completely snuffing out. Corydalis came behind him and cut the ropes off his wrists that had been tied just before he was presented to her. “Why have you come to the Rainforest Dark Dragon?”

The trip to the village had gone rather uneventfully. The native men felt the need to occasionally shove Story, or prod him, given his calm compliance. It clearly made them nervous, despite having bound his wrists. They chose not to bereave him of the flanged mace hanging at his side - they had more than likely witnessed the creature that lay beneath the man. Mortal weaponry would mean little to their captive. These men were a little on edge, yes; but at least they were sharp.

Story had just begun to become annoyed with the native's belligerence when he was shoved into a hut onto his knees.  His indigo gaze beheld his own visage rise in a roar of colorful flame before a woman that could only be the tribe's chief or sorceress. She sauntered over to him in what seemed like a sultry fashion, or so he supposed - a build such as hers could not move any other way. He inhaled freely of the sweet fumes she blew towards him, and rubbed at his wrists once she cut his tightly-wound bindings.

Those with more than a fair amount of insight into things tickled Story's fancy in ways he could not describe. Blessed be the seers, the mediums, and the sages. He chuckled darkly at the mystic's comment and inquiry.
"There are many spirits who would give advisory of my arrival," he mused ominously, the dichotomy of his refined accent mingled in his deep, gritty voice playing over every word and reverberating through the hut. He stood and looked over his shoulder at the woman. "I regret I must inform you that you are sheltering a war criminal…tried by the sword several centuries too late…or better late than never, as a certain order of men would have you believe. Triste….C'est la vie. Thus I am here."

Story paced about the hut, browsing over the woman's belongings absently. "Normally I would not fear men. They do not know their history very well, but they are very learned and efficient in taking down my kind."
He examined the fire pit he had seen his likeness in curiously.
"Not to disappoint fate, but I had only planned on quickly passing through Laeto on foot."

Corydalis’s coral eyes bored into Story like a thousand darts. “Everyone in Laeto could be considered a war criminal. What you’ve done outside this place is no concern of mine. We don’t follow the laws of the outside lands here.” The shaman huffed softly at the man but still, his future was an interesting one if it would come to pass.

She tilted her head towards the dragon man before she chuckled a bit. “Humans are dumb creatures but they tend to figure out how to kill effectively when scared. Even my kind has learned that the hard way.” Her eyes traveled up and down him as she thought about the prophecy. “Fate hardly cares what you have in mind. However, fate is not always in stone either. It is merely what could be and not what is.”

She waved her tanned hand towards him as if brushing him off. “The villagers here tend to get anyone they think would be a problem for them. They bring them to me in hopes it isn’t true and I set their fears aside. I’ve been doing this same song and dance now for decades. I’ve watched them grow old, die, and I’ve watched their young repeat. That’s the nature of creatures like us I am afraid.” Her eyes slid over Story once more. “My name is Corydalis Rose. I’m a Rosenite from Sularia who just happened to end up the shaman here thanks to my father’s special talents. Rest easy knowing I’m used to the supernatural.” There was a smirk on her face as she took her pipe and emptied it out.

Corydalis moved over to one of the many shelves and rummaged through it. Finding what she wanted she started to pack the pipe and light it back up. A few puffs and she held it out to Story. “It won’t kill you nor harm you. I promise.”

Story was put a slight more at ease with the shaman's declaration of lawlessness. He ceased his pacing to seat himself across from her. "I've always striven to uphold balance, despite my shared lack of observance for mortal law. Alas, I cannot help if some find my very existence to be an affront to this balance."

Flickers of mirth showed in the dragon's indigo gaze at the woman's next words. "I have taken on this physical form long enough to know many things about humans first hand." He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his seat, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "You needn't speak to me on Fate, either. We share a gift of the Sight, you and I. Though, admittedly, that vision has been clouded for me as of late. Replaced by new and unsettling things…"

He trailed off to let her speakonce more.

Watch them die…or become Death itself,
he thought to himself for the briefest of bittersweet moments.

Speaking her name immediately grabbed his attention. "I knew the Goddess' lineage was vast, mon cher, but you are the second I have met now within a very short time, not to mention the Mother herself. In vastly different locales. I have crossed paths with Bryony as well."
He smiled warmly. "I've had many names over the ages, but I prefer…Story."

Story watched her pack the pipe, and graciously and enthusiastically partook, having enjoyed the aroma of the fume she'd exhaled on him moments before. Without surprise, the look of smoke billowing from his nostrils seemed natural for him. His first inhale deeply filled his lungs, and the second, he let linger in his mouth and inhaled it again up through his nose as it gently wafted past his lips.

"So," he mused as he passed the pipe back to Cordydalis. "I should hope that these whispers you've seen and heard of me don't include any sort of undeserved reverence. I've had my fill of that. My brothers in bygone times took to it well. I never did. I merely enjoy living, and all that entails…trials, tribulations, and all."